


The Marital Bed

by citrinesunset



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Bruises, Consummating an Arranged Marriage, Forced To Sleep Beside Rapist After Rape, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marking, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: Aron is unhappy about his arranged marriage. He dislikes his new husband, and is unhappy about the political and economic difficulties that have forced him to accept the proposal. He is resigned to fulfill his duty, but the wedding night tests his resolve.





	The Marital Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavensblessing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensblessing/gifts).



"I'm sure you're aware that you weren't my first choice for a husband," Castor said coolly as he adjusted his collar in the mirror.

In the mirror's reflection, Castor looked at Aron, who was sitting on the sofa behind his back. Aron stared back defiantly.

"I'm your third choice, aren't I?"

Castor's jaw tensed. His dark eyes narrowed. Aron was pleased with himself. He might have been "nearly unmarriageable," as Castor had put it the first moment they had a chance to speak privately, but Aron's new husband had been unusually unlucky for a man of his wealth and social standing.

Castor was not an unattractive man. He was several years older than Aron, but he was still handsome and refined. His black beard was neatly trimmed, and he always smelled like incense. But Aron hated the way he looked at him. He hated the way he talked to him when they were unchaperoned. Aron had his suspicions about why Castor's previous matches had ended badly.

Castor's first marriage had been arranged by his father nearly a decade ago, and ended in annulment after only a month. The official reason was that the marriage had not been consummated and the couple found the match unsatisfactory, but of course there was gossip. But that was years ago, and people's memories were short when it came to men like Castor.

And then, last year, he was betrothed to a young nobleman. A few months before the wedding, the engagement was abruptly called off by the young man's family.

With Aron, Castor had left no room for cold feet. It had only been a month since he asked for Aron's hand in marriage, and Aron's older brother had been too relieved to request a longer engagement.

In better circumstances, Aron would have heeded his misgivings and refused the proposal. But it was a good match. Castor had no title, but he was third in line to a dukedom and was a trusted advisor to the king. 

"This isn't charity," Castor said, ignoring Aron's retort. "I would not have asked for your hand if I didn't approve of you and find you attractive. And I had the utmost respect for your father when he was alive. But I see no point in ignoring that you have more to gain from this than I do. Most men in my position would not have taken you without a dowry. But the king approves of our match, and I share his eagerness to heal the kingdom. And I desire companionship."

Aron picked at the hem of his jacket. Save for Castor's voice, the room was too quiet. It was tradition, everyone said, that the couple should spend some time alone after the ceremony before joining the festivities. Aron wished he could just be alone. He still felt queasy, as though saying his vows had made him ill. Until he found himself at the altar, the prospect of marrying had difficult to picture. He'd half believed he wouldn't go through with it, or that Castor would have a change of heart and save him the trouble. Now that it was real, he needed time to digest it.

"What I'm trying to get at," Castor said in long-awaited conclusion, "is that I expect you to honor your vows and fulfill your duties as my husband. There is nothing else I can hope to get from this marriage." 

It had been too much to hope, Aron supposed, that this would be a purely political marriage. He'd heard of couples making it work that way. They made appearances when necessary but slept in separate beds and even kept their own lovers. But what leverage did Aron have?

His family had been loyal subjects of the old king. They weren't traitors; when the throne came under dispute, they did not actively oppose King Claridas' ascension. But their lack of support had been clear enough that their land was stripped from them. Aron's father lost his title and died in disgrace.

As the youngest child of four, Aron had taken for granted that he would have a great degree of freedom. But now his father was gone, and one of his brothers was taken by fever two years ago. His sister's husband was unpopular with the new king, and they'd left the kingdom in fear for their safety. What little remained of the family's land was run by Aron's mother and elder brother. So when the king had a slight change of heart, and gave his blessing for one of his favorite advisors to marry Aron, it was not an opportunity that could be turned down. The king himself had attended the ceremony and congratulated them.

Not for the first time, Aron wondered if this wasn't actually meant as a punishment.

Aron let out a palpable breath of relief when there was a knock on the door. Castor called for the person to enter, and the steward who leaned in announced that it was time for them to rejoin their guests for the evening's festivities.

The wedding banquet should have been a relief, a welcome opportunity to put off spending time alone with his new husband. But instead he found himself devoting all his resolve to not looking unhappy in front of the dozens of guests. And try as he might, he couldn't quash his fear of what awaited him after the banquet. He only picked at his dinner, and what little appetite he had evaporated completely when Castor reached under the table and placed a hand between Aron's legs, giving his cock and balls a gentle but possessive squeeze. Aron sucked in his breath and tried not to react.

He must have appeared tense, however, because Castor leaned over and whispered, "You're acting like a condemned man. Stop it before our guests start to wonder."

Aron wanted to retort that if he wanted him to relax, he should remove his hand. He thought he was doing an admirable job of hiding his displeasure, considering "condemned" was not far from how he felt at the moment. He plastered a fake smile on his face.

After dinner came the dancing. To his credit, Castor was a fine dancer. Aron had to do hardly any work at all. Once they'd made their requisite appearance on the floor, Aron took the first opportunity to excuse himself and seek out his brother, Florent. 

Florent was standing by the wall, out of earshot of most of the revelers. Few of Aron's friends and family were in attendance. Almost all the guests were Castor's friends, and his acquaintances from the royal court.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," Florent said softly, barely audible over the sound of the music. "But I'm glad you decided to go through with it."

"Do you really think he's a good man? That he'll be a good husband?"

Florent hesitated. "I think he can provide for you, and that you'll have better opportunities. Being a romantic is all fine and good when there's nothing at stake."

"I never asked for wealth. I never asked you for anything." He immediately regretted arguing. It was too late to change anything now, and he had no idea when he would see his family again. Softening his tone, he asked, "Is it truly necessary for you and mother to leave in the morning?"

"If we want to make good headway, yes."

"Did Castor not invite you to stay longer? Isn't it tradition for the visiting family to stay a week, at least?"

Again, Florent hesitated. "He doesn't want your first days together to be filled with entertaining and hectic activity. And our presence will do little to help you adjust to your new home. We can always visit again once you've settled in. It's only a day's ride."

Aron didn't know if his brother was being hopelessly naive or if he was trying to reassure himself that he had not married his younger brother off to an asshole.

A half hour later, the festivities were still going strong when a servant approached Aron and informed him that Castor had asked for him to be escorted to the bedchamber. Aron looked across the room at Castor, who was laughing with one of his friends. Had he decided to banish Aron from the wedding banquet because of his less than enthusiastic attitude? Or had this been planned ahead of time?

There was a bathtub waiting for him in the bedchamber, which lent credence to the latter theory. So, Castor wanted him bathed and ready for their wedding night.

At least Aron was alone for now. There was no one to put on a show for.

The servant took his clothes, but left him alone to bathe. Aron stayed in the tub for a long time, until the water grew tepid. Eventually, he got out and dried himself. There was a bottle of scented oil for his skin. He poured a small amount in his palm and dabbed it on his neck and underarms before he stopped, feeling dirty. The oil must have been Castor's choice. A scent he liked, perhaps. Aron shuddered and pulled on the white nightshirt that had been left for him.

While he waited, Aron stood by the window and pictured himself escaping, scaling down the wall with a rope made from bedsheets. It was a stupid fantasy, one he would never act on, but it gave him a measure of comfort.

Next, he imagined ways to put off the inevitable. He could feign an illness. But he couldn't put this off forever. And if he was committed to this marriage, perhaps it was better to get the worst of it over with quickly. He could only lose his virginity to his man once, and perhaps with time, the memory of it would be less sharp than the dread he felt now.

As the minutes drew on, the more irritated he became, thinking of Castor celebrating downstairs while he had to wait in the dark and silence. He realized there was no place where he could be happy tonight. He'd hated the banquet, but now he would have preferred to be back there, where at least there was music and dancing to distract him.

Eventually, he heard footsteps in the hall. They were heavier than a servant's. Castor, he'd noticed, carried himself with authority. He had a heavy step and long gait. The door opened and Castor entered, smelling of wine. He closed the door behind him and latched it, and then looked at Aron lustily while he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

"Come closer," Castor said. "Stand in the candlelight so I can see you properly."

Aron took some faltering steps, stopping as soon as he guessed he was close enough to satisfy him. He was already uncomfortably aware of how exposed he was, dressed only in the lightweight shift. But of course, that wasn't enough for Castor, because the next thing he did was tilt his chin and say, "Take it off."

Aron lifted the hem over his head and let the shift drop to the floor. He couldn't resist saying, "I'm surprised you didn't demand to get a look at me before you agreed to marry me."

"Don't be uncouth. You're not a common whore. Turn around."

At least facing away, Aron didn't have to worry about hiding the look of distaste on his face. But he still flinched when Castor stepped closer and placed a hand on his back. With his other hand, he stroked Aron's hair, wrapping a curl around one finger.

"Lovely. Are you really a virgin? You can tell me now. It's not the sort of thing I'd seek an annulment over."

Aron swallowed. "Yes."

"Hmm. I'm surprised, a young man as handsome as you. Well, you'll catch on soon enough. It's for the best; you can learn to enjoy what I like. Remember, it's normal for it to hurt a bit at first. I won't injure you."

Castor trailed his fingers down Aron's back, his touch was light like spider legs until reached Aron's, which he squeezed.

Aron flinched, and Castor wrapped his other arm around his waist and pulled him close. His beard tickled the back of Aron's neck, and his silk suit rubbed against his skin.

"You're tense. It would be endearing if I believed it was it was just nerves, but you recoil from my touch as though I'm a leper. Did I force you to marry me? Are you a prisoner?"

"No," Aron said softly.

"That's correct. You made a vow, and now it's time to show me that you intend to keep it." Castor let go of Aron's ass and put his hand over his mouth. He forced two fingers between Aron's lips. "Suck."

Aron dully opened his jaw to let the fingers into his mouth, but he didn't suck on them. If Castor was displeased, he didn’t show it. He seemed content with exploring Aron's tongue, cheeks, and teeth with his fingertips, as though he were inspecting a new horse. Then he removed his wet fingers and worked them between Aron's buttocks, seeking out his hole. He held Aron tight as he pressed a finger inside.

Aron gasped. "That hurts!"

"Relax. It's only a finger."

He tried to twist away on reflex. Castor removed his finger and gave him a sharp slap on the ass.

"I am your husband now. When I want to touch you, you will damn well let me."

Aron didn't respond, and Castor didn't wait for an answer. He resumed his exploration of Aron's ass and began to kiss the side of his neck. He sucked and nipped at Aron's skin, and Aron knew that when he had to face the servants and remaining guests tomorrow, they would see the bruises. Perhaps that was the point, to show that the marriage had been consummated and that he was Castor's, now. Aron whimpered, feeling like a mouse caught in the jaws of a cat. He tried to stay still and let Castor do what he wanted.

Abruptly, Castor stopped. He pulled away from Aron's neck and removed his fingertip from his abused hole. Aron was so surprised that he was caught off-guard when Castor pushed him down on the bed. Aron's legs trailed on the floor, and Castor grasped him by the hips and lifted him so that he was standing bent over. Then he stepped away.

Aron looked over his shoulder but didn't dare move. He watched as Castor walked over to the table beside the bed. He undid his trousers and pushed them, along with his underwear, down his thighs. His cock was large, and Aron's heart began to race. His poor hole was already sore. But Castor's next step was to pick up a small bottle and pour a little oil in his hand. It looked thicker than the oil Aron had put on his skin. Castor coated his cock with it and stroked himself before returning to Aron.

He slipped a couple slick fingers into Aron's hole. "Now, is this better?"

For a moment, Aron was relieved. With the oil, Castor's fingers entered him much more easily. But then the fingers were replaced by the head of Castor's cock, and nothing could have prepared him for that. He gasped when Castor entered him suddenly.

"What are you doing? Slow—slow down...."

Castor simply ignored him. He grasped Aron's hips, smearing lubricant on one, and held his lower half in place as he started to fuck him. Aron's upper half was free, and he squirmed on the bed, grabbing at the bedclothes in an attempt to pull himself away from the assault. It was too fast. He wasn't ready. His husband's cock stretched him like he'd never imagined. Each thrust rocked him hard and pressed his hips into the edge of the mattress.

Eventually, Castor tired of Aron's squirming and leaned over him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to the bed. The gold band of the signet ring Castor wore on his left hand dug into Aron's wrist. Immobilized, Aron could do nothing but clench his fists and bury his face in the bed. To his great shame, Aron found himself spreading his legs further and arching his back in an attempt to make the entry a little easier. This seemed to please Castor, who grunted appreciatively.

As suddenly as it began, it stopped. Castor grunted and stayed inside him as he partially collapsed onto Aron's back. His grip on Aron's wrists loosened. Aron could feel the heaviness of his breathing. Slowly, Castor pulled out, and Aron felt wetness between his cheeks. His whimpered in spite of himself.

"Am I bleeding?" he asked softly.

Castor scoffed. "Of course not. It's the oil and my spend that you feel. That’s all. You really were a virgin if you think that was rough."

Castor got up and made his way over to the other side of the room. He began to undress himself fully. The tub was still full of water, and he dipped a cloth in it to clean the oil off his cock. Aron didn't move for a few minutes. He was scared there would be pain when he tried. But as it became clear that Castor had no intention of leaving him alone to compose himself, Aron struggled to his feet.

Aside from a small twinge when he straightened up, he felt uninjured. He could already tell, though, that he would be stiff for days to come.

He slowly bent over to retrieve his nightshirt. Castor noticed, and said, "Don't. I want you to be nude when you're in our bed."

"You intend for us to sleep together?" Aron asked, trying to keep his voice even. He had hoped—assumed, even—that they would keep separate bedchambers.

"Tonight, yes. It would send the wrong message if you slept alone. In the future, you'll have your own bed but will join me when I request your presence."

Castor reached for his own nightshirt, which was hanging from a screen in the corner.

"May I have a cloth?" Aron asked. "To clean myself with?"

"No. That can wait until the morning. Go on—get into bed."

Humiliated, Aron slowly climbed onto the bed and lay on his side. He covered himself and faced the wall so that when Castor joined him a moment later, he did not have to look at him. That didn't stop Castor from lying close beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

"I think you'll learn to be happy here in time," Castor said with surprising softness. "I meant to surprise you, but I obtained some seeds and saplings from your homeland. I thought to have them planted in the gardens here, to remind you of your old home."

"We're too far north; I doubt they'll grow."

Castor sighed. "I am sorry if you didn't enjoy losing your virginity. I'm not surprised that you found accommodating me difficult. You'll have plenty of opportunities to learn."

"I never want you to touch me again."

Aron was surprised to find the words coming out of his mouth. But then, what harm did it do now? The marriage was consummated.

"I'm not going to have another annulment, Aron. I certainly won't have a divorce. I won't have a marriage that lacks intimacy, and I won't satisfy myself with whores. So what other options are there? What would you suggest?" Aron was silent, and Castor continued. "That's what I thought."

Aron listened while Castor's breathing slowed, and then turned into soft snoring. Aron was exhausted. His eyes were heavy. But he couldn't sleep. He looked at his wrists, at the bruises that were forming, and wondered how vicious they would look in the morning. He looked at the moon through the window until he blinked tears out of his eyes.

Was this really his life now? He couldn't accept that. And yet, if he ran away, would his ordeal be for nothing? If he could endure this, he could endure anything until he found a way to improve his fate.


End file.
